


Enclosed

by Gem_Gem, TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coming In Pants, First Kiss, First Time, Getting naked in a cave, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sharing Body Heat, WetLock, rainstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4570107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shelock and John are caught in a downpour after (yet) another case in the countryside. What other choice is there but to share body heat? And they can't very well stay in those wet clothes, can they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enclosed

**Author's Note:**

> The first collaborative fic between Gem_Gem and TooManyChoices with suggestions from KittieHill.
> 
> Comments, Kudos and hits are our life and our breath. Tell us what you think

Diving for the cover of the cave at the same time, Sherlock narrowly missed knocking his head against the cave entrance and the low, bowed ceiling within by mere inches as he made room for John to enter. It was dark and dank, and smelt of damp soil, but it was shelter. John blinked rain from his lashes and glanced around; it was a tight fit, with the both of them pushed shoulder to shoulder, their feet tangling and their heads bent towards one another. With a loud and deep sigh, John glanced at Sherlock, who peered back, curls plastered to his forehead and temples, and water dripping from the end of his nose.

“I thought you checked the bloody forecast? You _told_ me you checked the bloody forecast!” John grumbled shaking rain from his sleeves and then squinting back around the small cave, ambling over a few steps to a moss covered rock to sit against.

“Not even I can predict the weather, John,” Sherlock replied with a growl, looking back out at the vast curtain of hail and rain, shaking out his coat so vigorously that errant droplets splashed John in the face, catching him in the eye.

“Oi! Do you mind?” John complained, snagging Sherlock’s coattail in one hand and then pulling roughly. “Sit down. It looks like we’ll be here a while…”

“Sit down, _where_?” Sherlock suddenly snapped, waving one of his arms at the small space the cave provided, and then shuddering involuntarily. “You’ve taken up the only space available!”

John glared and released his constraining grip on Sherlock’s coattail, “Don’t complain to me! I’m not the one who _insisted_ we leave the bloody car to go traipsing through the fields! I’m not the one who was _absolutely_ certain that it would be overcast but nothing more!” he groused, pitching his voice low and mimicking Sherlock as best he could. “John, don’t be an idiot, I’ve calculated the spot, exactly! All we need to do is walk five miles through swampy, muddy, poo-covered fields. Better leave the car on the side of the road. We won’t need that. We surely won’t get lost or caught out in the worst downpour since records began!”

“I didn’t say _any_ of that,” Sherlock protested, wiping water from his face and pushing his hair back. “And I don’t sound like that—is that how you think I sound?”

“Yes. I think I had the depth and stupid arrogance that just makes me want to punch you in your face—”

“How was I to know that the weather would change so dramatically?” Sherlock exclaimed.

John scowled, “Maybe if you didn’t make us walk so bleedin’ far that you _lost signal_ on your phone! So you could have double checked, or even triple checked the forecast, instead of checking it once, when we were in _London_ , and then not thinking to check again—in spite of me reminding you!”

“You did not remind… ”

“Yes I _did_!” John argued. “But you must have been so caught up in your…your deducing and your “mind palace”, and your collection of soil samples in two dozen bags, that you ignored me. _Again_. As you normally do. You ignore me until it’s “John, fetch me my phone!” “John, pass me a pen.” “John, drink this.” “John, come here.” “John, take this unidentified tablet and see if it kills you.” “John do this…do that!”—I saw the sky turn, I saw it get that little bit darker, but did you listen to me? _No_. Did you check your phone? _Oh no_. Why? Because Sherlock Holmes had everything covered beforehand, apparently. Sherlock Holmes knows everything, except when the sky is going to open and drown anyone under it!”

Sherlock huffed and clenched his jaw at another onslaught of shudders, “Th-the weather is a force of nature, John. There is hardly a s-set pattern to such forces. They merely happen and whatever—”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, get over here. You’re freezing. I’m freezing. Come here,” John grumbled, waving Sherlock over and turning to look away when Sherlock glanced at him. “Body heat and…all that. Come on.”

“I _can’t_.”

“What do you mean, you “can’t”?” John repeated with a frown. “Of course you can. Come here.”

“There’s no _room_!” Sherlock grumbled, motioning to John with a cold-looking, trembling hand. “I can’t sit next to you. I can’t go behind you. I can’t—”

“Sit between my legs, facing me. It’s not that complicated, Sherlock,” John interrupted, spreading his legs a little further as invitation and then flushing at the position. “Sit here, and put your legs over my thighs, at my…my waist. You can do that; your legs are long enough. Come on, before you really get cold!”

Sherlock hesitated a moment, looked back out at the downpour, and then awkwardly stepped into John’s space, sinking to sit awkwardly between his legs, his own bent up against John’s sides, pushing into John’s arms until he moved them. The fabric of Sherlock’s trousers was soaked through and cold, and John eyed them suspiciously before thrusting a hand up one trouser leg to check the temperature of Sherlock’s skin beneath. Sherlock flinched with a sharp breath, and narrowed his gaze as John appraised the material of Sherlock’s coat, running fingers up the inside to happily find it dry and warm. John’s own coat hadn’t faired as well, and after a moments deliberation, John unzipped it and pulled it off, leaning into Sherlock as he struggled to get it off his arms.

“…I suppose you’re going to suggest socks and shoes off?” Sherlock asked in a rumble when John leaned back and put his wet coat aside with a shiver.

“My jeans need to come off, definitely, and your trousers too, I think,” John muttered as he reached a hand down to tug at where they plastered wetly to his skin, grimacing. “But my socks are fine. Shockingly, I had enough foresight to wear my boots…you on the other hand, knew exactly where we were going, but wore your stupid posh shoes.”

Sherlock sniffed and rubbed the end of his nose briefly, “They aren’t stupid…”

“Right—get up a moment, I’ll…take my jeans off before they chafe and…and then…then you, get yours off,” John mumbled, clearing his throat as he gestured to Sherlock’s legs. “Unless they’re not as wet—”

“That delightful gust of wind that blew most of the hail into my face a few minutes ago, was also nice enough to drench my thighs,” Sherlock said as he pushed up to crouch awkwardly astride John’s legs as John struggled to undo his jeans and peel them off. “My torso is fine, but my lower half is not. My feet are soaked, and my legs are just about drenched—”

“I did tell you to button your coat,” John muttered as he kicked off his boots briefly enough to rid himself of his saturated jeans. He winced as he sat down and the cold damp of the floor instantly leeched the precious remaining heat from his arse, and motioned to Sherlock to take his sodden trousers off as well.

Sherlock unbuckled his belt with cold fingers that refused to cooperate and wriggled his trousers down his legs before hauling off his shoes and socks. John grabbed his feet as soon as Sherlock sat back down again, and rubbed them to warm them up, pressing them to the warm skin of his thighs with a slight flinch at the contrasting temperature. Sherlock’s feet were ice cold and pale, and John rubbed them energetically to get some colour into them, reaching to pull Sherlock a little closer by the waist as the wind blew a slight splattering of rain into the cave.

With Sherlock’s back to the entrance, John was somewhat shielded from the cold and the rain by Sherlock’s body and his coat, but Sherlock’s wet head was getting the full brunt of it and John glanced up to see Sherlock grimace faintly and try to flick up his heavily soaked collar, water still dripping from his hair to track down the sides of his face and down his nose.

“Here, put my socks on and budge in closer, rest your head on my shoulder,” John told him, already in the process of taking off his socks for Sherlock to put on and then putting back on his boots barefoot. “…You’re awfully quiet. What are you planning?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock murmured, sniffing and squirming close once he had yanked on John’s socks. “I can’t plan anything with this headache.”

“Put your head on my shoulder. My jumper is…somewhat dry,” John said with a soft sigh and a smile, urging Sherlock down by the nape of his neck and trying not to react when Sherlock’s warm chest pushed against him. “Pull your arms out and wrap your coat around us…it’s big enough, I think…”

Sherlock grunted in agreement and shrugged the heavy fabric off his shoulders before wrapping it around them both securely, his cold nose and forehead squashing up into the crook of John’s neck. John slipped his hands inside the coat to encircle Sherlock’s warm and dry waist, sighing in relief when his chilly fingers tingled from the pleasurable heat radiating off Sherlock’s torso. Sherlock shifted a moment, seemingly uneasy, before huffing in resignation and shuffling closer; so close, in fact, that they were suddenly touching from chest to pelvis. John blinked rapidly with a surge of embarrassment and cleared his throat, adjusting his hand placement on Sherlock’s waist and glancing around the cave and then outside at the deluge when Sherlock rubbed his wet and icy forehead against his neck with a groan of discomfort.

“…Your underwear is slightly translucent,” Sherlock murmured throatily into John’s neck a few moments later. “Just thought you should know.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that. As if this wasn’t embarrassing enough,” John replied with a grumble, suddenly aware of how his damp pants clung to him uncomfortably and how he could feel the soft shape of Sherlock’s genitals through the layers separating them.

“Do you always dress to the right?” Sherlock asked, still vaguely rubbing his forehead against him as he spoke.

“We are not having this conversation—why are you rubbing your face against me?” John frowned, peeking down at Sherlock and getting a nose full of wet curls.

“The pressure helps with my headache, and you’re warm,” Sherlock explained with a shrug, pressing a little closer with a tightening of his arms. “…I dress to the left.”

John exhaled through his nose roughly and shifted his legs as another cold blast of wind surged in from outside, “Sherlock. _Shut it_.”

Sherlock lapsed into silence, his warm breath gusting down the front of John’s jumper before shuffling yet closer and stilling against John’s body. John tried to ignore the fact that Sherlock’s privates were now wedged snuggly against his own, but soon, seeping warmth began to crawl over them and John became aware of Sherlock’s penis hardening hotly and jutting into his hip. John clenched his eyes shut in sympathetic embarrassment, and patted Sherlock’s side when he visibly tensed and tried to shift his hips back.

“It’s okay,” John mumbled. “It happens—”

“Don’t patronise me,” Sherlock grumbled, shifting away and shivering as his growing erection slid along John’s thigh. There was a sudden bloom of heat where Sherlock’s cheeks pressed against John’s neck before he lifted his head, avoiding eye contact and turned to stare over John’s shoulder with blushing cheeks and a twisted mouth.

“I’m not,” John assured him, eyeing the drying frizz of his hair with a surge of fond affection.

“ _Yes_ , you are,” Sherlock complained, turning his head a little further to avoid eye contact, and then rested his head back on John’s shoulder. “It doesn’t “happen to everyone”…I…lost control of my bodily functions—You’re warm, and close and I’ve…not been…it’s not often that I…I’m unused to being so close to someone and…”

“It-it’s okay,” John told him, “Really. It’s _fine_. It’s…it’s all good—hey, at least it’s warming us up, eh? That’s something. Arousal is good for raising the temperature of the body, as it increases heart rate and blood pressure…”

At John’s weak, light-hearted anecdote to break the tension, Sherlock slowly lifted his head again and looked at John with an arched eyebrow, and John stared awkwardly into his face. Sherlock’s eyes were dark, his pupils dilated, and his cheeks were dusted with a healthy pink blush that bloomed slowly down his neck. John tried not to stare and moved his hands from Sherlock’s waist to his bare knees.

“…What are you saying?” Sherlock asked.

“Nothing.”

“Why say that then?”

“I was…just trying to ease the tension,” John exclaimed uneasily, watching as Sherlock tilted his head appraisingly and then inched back to be close to John once more, chasing away the leaking chill that had taken his place. John clenched his jaw as the hard line of Sherlock’s penis was pushed into him again, bathing everywhere it touched with warmth, and was suddenly and utterly mortified when his own genitals stirred in interest.

“You said it was fine?” Sherlock said, having noticed John’s sudden change in expression. “You said—”

“It is,” John replied quickly, patting Sherlock’s knee and then looking everywhere but at Sherlock as he tried to will away his own growing erection. “It’s…okay.”

“Because if it’s not… “ Sherlock began to edge away again until the movement was stalled by John’s firm hand on his hip.

“It’s _fine_ … “ John winced at the tone, “Imagine that without me sounding like I’m panicking.”

“Are you… “ Sherlock rumbled against John’s chest, “panicking?”

“No, just… “ John heaved a long slow breath and forced the tension from his shoulders, “No, only… you don’t.”

“Neither do you,” Sherlock muttered, seemingly fascinated as fabric moved and shifted against the twin expansions, “not with me, in any case.”

John gave a curt nod downward where their two erections pressed lazily together, “Would you believe it’s just circumstances and biology?” John’s hips twitched forward seeking friction and John swore, “Shit, sorry.”

Sherlock bit down a gasp before chuckling, “Circumstances and biology…” Sherlock canted his hips forward fractionally, “You’re bigger than I deduced.”

John barked a short laugh, “Well, you know what they say… It’s not the size… “

Sherlock looked at him blankly.

“It’s what you do with it.” John finished the saying, frowning as Sherlock’s obliviousness remained, “Oh come on, you _must_ have heard that.”

The taller man shrugged within their cocoon of his coat, “Hardly relevant to me.”

“What _is_ relevant to you?” John grumbled rhetorically, unable to stop his gaze as it dropped once more to where they were pressed together. “…You’re not so small yourself, you know—God, this is…not what I thought we’d end up doing when I agreed to travel halfway across the northern countryside with you. What are we here for again? Was there even a reason? I honestly can’t remember.”

“There are several reasons why we’re here,” Sherlock replied with a shaky sigh as he bowed his head and shifted that little bit closer, the soft drag of cotton over hard flesh providing hot, blissful friction. “I spent the entire drive here explaining them all. In depth. Obviously you weren’t listening.”

“Well, you do prattle on sometimes,” John chortled nervously, his breathing a bit faster in the small space between them as he responded to Sherlock with a tensing of his thighs and an adorted twitch of his hips. “You…like to hear yourself talk and I just…just let you…natter on.”

Sherlock looked up at him through his lashes and then adjusted his position when John’s erection thickened and hardened further, dropping his head to John’s shoulder again, only with his face pressed into John’s jumper. John tried to control his breathing and stared out at the hammering rain and hail, watching it bounce and collide roughly with the grass, throwing up droplets of mud.

The air was humid and thick around them, filled with unspoken words and rising anticipation, and John felt the tension grow, felt it crawl up his spine as time ticked by agonisingly slowly. Heat gathered between them, drying and warming their legs carrying the musk of arousal upward, cloying and thick in their mouths.

“I like it,” Sherlock murmured hoarsely.

John flinched with a full body jolt and it rubbed their straining erections together, “What?”

“The smell… us, together. I like it.”

John made a small affirmative noise, lost within a shuddering breath as Sherlock tilted and dropped his hips minutely and their lengths slid against each other with more purpose. John’s mind clouded with arousal faster than he thought possible, faster than it had for a long time, and the clutching dread, and panic and embarrassed that came with having your erect penis brushed against by your best friend’s equally erect penis, was overthrown with a dizzying desire that shot up his spine. John knew he was going to have to address what was happening, and what was ultimately going to happen, at a later date, but couldn’t for the life of him care.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John rasped, “Say that again.”

Sherlock raised his head, his eyes drowsy with emotion, heavy-lidded and dark, “John, I like it.”

John raised a shaky hand to cradle the nape of Sherlock’s neck and whispered softly, “Me too.”

Unable to resist any longer, John made a more pointed shift of his hips, pressing the two of them more resolutely together and lowered a hand to curl against the small of Sherlock’s back, urging him to respond in kind.

There was a deep wavering groan as Sherlock’s lids flickered shut and he tentatively arched and curled his back, dragging their erections against each other.

“Like that, do you?” John chuckled huskily, his other hand still cupping the back of Sherlock’s neck. He stroked the short, soft curls there idly, twirling and twisting them around his fingers with an eager but gentle tug; something he had often ached to do whenever Sherlock was hunched over an experiment or his laptop, but had always denied the want in the next second.

A leisurely nod and a murmured “Mmmmm,” rumbled off the walls as Sherlock repeated the movement, and John glanced down watching as Sherlock’s abdominals clenched and flexed as his hips rocked back and forth.

“Amazing…” John whispered, inches away from Sherlock’s ear.

“Jo---John,” Sherlock sucked in a harsh ragged breath and dropped his forehead forward against John’s as the rocking shifting continued.

“Go on,” John encouraged reflexively, “keep going. Christ, look at you.”

Even pressed together, John could see the rosy flush that had warmed Sherlock’s pale skin, creeping up his chest to his neck, matching the bright points of colours on his cheeks as his movements picked up speed.

“Do you… “ John’s question was rough and hungry, “Do you want me to touch you?”

There was a anxious and hurried shake of the head pressed against his, “No… want… close… please…” the words were broken off with a wimper as Sherlock tensed suddenly and bit down on his own lip. There was an oddly familiar throb and pulse as Sherlock leaned hard against him and shuddered through his orgasm, the last fitful thrusts of his hips stilling as new wetness bloomed between them, soaking through both sets of underwear.

“God, Sherlock… did you… you did, didn’t you… and you…” John struggled for words as his own erection sat hard and demanding in the warm wet puddle between them.

“That was…” Sherlock’s words slurred slightly as he settled, “I…”

John shifted, desperate for some friction and Sherlock hissed in sensitivity. John’s hand, still resting against Sherlock’s back, shifted to between them, “Fuck. Sorry, I need… Sherlock, please…”

Sherlock inched back slightly and watched in wonder as John hooked his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and pushed them hurriedly up and over his erection, before taking himself in hand. His penis was darkly flushed and glistening wet, the head red and swollen and leaking profusely.

“John…” his name was a hushed whisper.

“Sherlock, I have to…sorry…” John gave himself two swift strokes before he felt the warm touch of Sherlock’s hand around his and gasped, staring up into his eyes.

“Can I?” Sherlock’s words were soft, his touch hesitant until John’s groan cleared the worried furrow from his forehead.

“Oh, please…yes, Sherlock, please.” John’s hand dropped away as Sherlock’s long fingers encircled him, the slick wetness from his earlier release making the glide of his hand smooth and warm and dazzlingly satisfying.

“You’re uncircumcised…” Sherlock muttered, “Didn’t deduce that either.”

“Shut _up_ , Christ, Sherlock… like that, yes.” John hissed between gritted teeth as his hips twitched to push himself through the ring of Sherlock’s long fingers.

“And you’re broader than me… but I’m… _oh_!” Sherlock’s analysis was derailed as John arched up and came hard in Sherlock’s hand, white streaks hitting and dripping down the furrows of Sherlock’s abs and onto his underwear, joining the sticky mess already there.

John groaned and relaxed against Sherlock, his head resting on the still damp and pleasingly cool collar of Sherlock’s Belstaff.

“You came…” Sherlock said wonderingly.

John chuckled into the fabric, faintly delirious with pleasure, “Yeah, that happens.”

“I meant,” Sherlock paused, gathering his thoughts, “it was me, you came… thinking of me.”

John lifted his head and took in Sherlock’s confused gaze and carefully replied, “…Yeah, ‘course I did.”

Sherlock seemed to be trying to rearrange thoughts within his mind-palace, “ _Not_ biology.”

John smiled fondly, “No…” Silence fell over the two men before John added, “and not just circumstance either.”

“Evidently,” Sherlock grinned with his fingers still loosely wrapped around John’s penis. “So…”

John took a deep and sobering breath, “So,” he repeated, feeling the tendrils of some sort of crisis clawing at his insides. “I…I’m probably not…you know, entirely straight—given the evidence at…or, well, in your hand, heh.”

Sherlock released him with a timid sort of expression, “Indeed.”

“I should just…say it really,” John muttered when he tucked himself clumsily away. “ _Right_. Well. I…I’m really not gay…or rather, I didn’t _think_ I was, but I’ve always had a…thing…for you.”

“A “thing”?”

John scowled half-heartedly, “Don’t make me say it. You know what I’m trying to say.”

Sherlock shrugged and looked playfully blank faced, “Don’t think I do.”

“God. You…you’re a right…right… _git_ , aren’t you?—I’ve had a…I fancy you, okay? I find you…vaguely appealing.”

“Vaguely?”

“All right, I find you _very_ appealing, then. Happy?” John exclaimed and gesturing with one hand as he turned to look away in embarrassment and a stab of emotion. “Christ. This is…difficult.”

Sherlock regarded him coyly, “What? Admitting you have feelings for me that aren’t fully platonic?”

John glanced over at Sherlock, took in his disheveled appearance, and flushed cheeks, and leaned toward him, “You’re not helping.”

Sherlock quirked his eyebrow as John touched his chin with his fingertips, tracing them along his jaw before he cupped the steady pulse in Sherlock’s neck.

“Let’s try this, then,” John pulled him in for a chaste and light kiss. It was experimental kiss for John and Sherlock both, and John exhaled a shaky breath through his nose, kissing Sherlock again and running his fingers up into his hair. He gave in to the need to grip at the thick curls and increased the pressure of his lips against Sherlock’s, keeping his mouth closed until Sherlock shivered and clutched at John’s arm.

With a faint moan, John slanted his head to deepen the kiss and grabbed for Sherlock’s hip, “Okay, yeah,” he murmured against Sherlock’s lips. “Make that, I find you _massively_ appealing.”

“Duly noted,” Sherlock huffed with a quiet laugh.

“And I _really_ like your mouth,” John breathed, sucking Sherlock’s bottom lip passed his teeth and then letting it go with a wet pop. “God—we should have done this sooner.”


End file.
